The Promise
by windowacrosstime
Summary: The name 'Doctor' stayed with John Smith for many years, it became a promise. A promise to fix things, to make things better. He would do everything in his power to keep that promise for the girl who gave him his name. 18th/19th century AU
1. Prologue

**Year: 1795**

"Be brave." That's what her mother told her to be, but the fact is she can't be, not now, probably never again. The fact of the matter is her mother was ripped away from her, not even the best Doctor from the town could save her. Hoping and praying did not do much to help either and in all honesty she lost faith, in God, in her father and in herself. She had never felt so small, so insignificant, so she ran. She ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, away from the ridiculously large house that now felt emptier than ever and a lot less like home.

Perhaps it was childish running away. However, she was still a child herself who had just had her entire life turned upside down. The shining light that was her mother was suddenly and cruelly put out, leaving the young Clara Oswald shrouded in a darkness from which she felt she could never escape. Clara stumbled blindly through the seemingly never ending gardens, tears blurring her vision, nightgown trailing in the dirt, stained brown and green in places from where she had fell onto the grass. Her feet were red raw and stinging, but she no longer cared for in that moment the pain in her heart ripped through anything else she could possibly feel.

Clara's world was shattered, so much so that she thought it would never be right again. The complexities of so many emotions hitting her at once, sadness, confusion, anger , but then came the unmistakeable emptiness from losing an irreplaceable loved one. This plethora of emotions was too much for the 10 year old Miss Clara to handle, she could no longer be strong, so she broke. Clara feels this so deeply because she was forced to grow up, she had to be responsible according to her father. Her father despised anything less than the height of maturity as he would say "snivelling young children. I do not care for immaturity in my manor.' So Clara became far more grown up than she should be for a 10 year old, this combined with her undeniable intelligence made her fully understand the extent at which the untimely death of her mother would truly affect her life. For her mother was her chance to be a child, play as a child should, have fun as a child should, she hated that Clara's father denied her a childhood. Eleanor hated that her beautiful daughter with a breathtaking smile and musical laugh, had to hide herself from her overbearing father that saw it fit to punish Clara if she so much as put a toe out of line. Of course, Clara now realised her childhood was over, what little she had of it anyway. Now, in the eyes of her father, she was a young lady albeit in a miniature form for she had always been small. She hated him for that.

* * *

"Where is the child?" The Lord of the manor, David Oswald bellowed.

"She left the manor my Lord. Miss Clara went into the gardens." Charlotte, Clara's own maid, answered. Charlotte was almost as close to Clara as the late Lady Eleanor was, even though Charlotte was young herself, only reaching the age of 25 a month previous to the horrific events of this evening. Unfortunately, no matter how hard she would try, Charlotte would never be able to tell Clara to just pick her head up, throw her shoulders back and carry on as normal, because she knew just how much the little girl she had come to love as much as little sister, adored her mother. She knew what Lord Oswald was asking of his daughter was impossible and she did not condemn Clara for struggling with the overwhelming emotions that followed her mother's death. It broke Charlotte's heart to see those usually happy big brown eyes so empty. She had always believed that a person's eyes were a window to the soul and from looking at Clara's eyes, she knew her soul was broken.

"Well what on Earth is she doing out there? She is dressed improperly, the stupid girl. Someone is to fetch her at once!" Lord Oswald ordered.

_Inconsiderate fool _"With all due respect my Lord, Miss Clara has just lost her mother." Charlotte ground out, although The Lord failed to notice her tone, he did however, notice her challenge.

"With all due respect Miss Lockhart, you will no longer have a place in this household if you challenge me again." He forced out through gritted teeth, pointing an accusing finger in her face. He swiftly turned sharply to the butler "Dennison. Send out a search party at once. If that wayward daughter of mine is not found within two hours, she will have a lot to answer to."

"Yes, my Lord, right away." Dennison answered. The Lord of manor nodded is head sharply once and strode proudly out of the room, grumbling things that sounded very much like 'pathetic child' and 'out of control' as he went.

Dennison and Charlotte stood silently,watching the the door through which Lord Oswald had left until they heard the loud slam of his study door. "That man!" Charlotte exclaimed "Doesn't he have any sympathy?"

"I sometimes doubt that he is capable of feeling" Dennison replied "Although I think the death of his wife has affected him more deeply than he would care to admit."

"Yet he treats Clara just the same as always, if not harsher." Charlotte mumbled.

"I do pity the child. Her father has never even attempted to understand her." Dennison agreed. "Now, we must find her before it becomes too dark, there is already a chill in the air. I'll order the grooms to look around the estate, you inform the other maids that Miss Clara is missing and get them to search the house just in case she has returned."

Charlotte acknowledged this with a nod and hurried towards the servant's quarters, so she could wait for Clara to return at the main entrance. Admittedly, Charlotte was worried for her and she was wringing her hands repeatedly whilst making her way to the bottom of the house.

* * *

Mr Dennison was a well-set man. He was the kind of man to demand obedience just from his mere presence. However, he could never be mistaken as a horrible man, he was never a cruel man and would do all he could for anyone in whatever way he could. It could definitely be said he was a father figure to the staff at Chatham Manor and thus gained the respect of all members of staff, it would be very rare to find a single man, woman or child that would not immediately carry out his requests.

When Mr Dennison finally reached the stable block that was casting a dim, yellow glow across the cobblestones he called for the stable master. The stable master was rather plain looking man which greatly contrasted his colourful personality. He filled a room with happiness and joy as soon as he entered and was immediately lived by those who were fortunate to have met him. "Mr Mills!" Dennison called with unmistakeable apprehension in his voice, "Mr Mills. This matter is of the utmost importance, I am in need of your assistance immediately."

"What's going on Dennison? What could possibly be so urgent at this time of night?" Questioned the usually cheerful voice of Thomas Mills, but was at that moment of time, laced with worry as he appeared from around a corner.

"It's Miss Clara, she is missing. The poor child ran into the estate garden in hysterics."

"What ever for?" Mills asked.

"Lady Eleanor passed away this evening, the poor girl lost her mother." Replied Dennison. "We must find her at once. Send all your grooms around the estate, use the horses if need be, there is an unmistakeable chill in the air."

"Right away Dennison," Mills agreed solemnly "if Miss Clara is out there much longer, she will do herself harm." He paused before calling out: "John?"

"Yes sir" came the reply.

"Ah Mr Smith, I need you to go to the estate gardens and find Miss Clara before it becomes too dark. The rest of the boys and I will search the woods. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course Sir." The young boy said with a look of severe determination crossing his features. John Smith quickly turned in the direction of the gardens, but rather suddenly turned back, brown hair falling into his moss green eyes and asked "but Sir, how do I know I've found her?"

"She is probably crying." Answered Dennison.

"Right. Crying. Got it." Both men chuckled at John Smith's grimace.

* * *

Clara didn't realise where her legs were carrying her until she actually reached the secluded corner of the gardens that was her mother's favourite place to sit and tell her stories about the world. This was where Clara and her mother would talk of far off places and dream of the journeys they could go on together. Only now, that was never going to happen. Clara no longer has a mother, only a father whose main interest is propriety and keeping up appearances. With these thoughts came a new wave of sadness, Clara made her way around the pond that was now beginning to reflect the sunset towards the trailing branches of the silver tinted willow trees. She sat beneath the branches, cool breeze tickling her cheeks and drying the remains of her tear tracks. There was no more crying, just quiet sniffling mingling with the songs of the birds and insects, creating a chorus that made Clara forget just for a moment the pain in her heart.

"Miss Clara?" A stranger's voice called. Clara's head snapped towards the direction of the voice, she stood up abruptly and rushed to hide behind the trunk of the willow tree. "Miss Clara? Are you there?"

Clara peered out from behind the tree trunk catching a glimpse of a figure shrouded in shadow. She studied the shape for a moment, coming to the conclusion that this figure was a young boy, not much older than herself with rather gangly limbs. The boy scanned the area and his eyes must have found Clara's form for he called out in triumph "Ah! There you are!" The boy waved cheerfully at her. When she didn't return his wave, he stood awkwardly for a moment before clasping his hands together suddenly and asking "Well are you coming or not?"

"I'm not going anywhere with a strange boy that I don't know. I'm not stupid." Clara replied, tilting her chin upwards.

"Excuse me, I'm not strange!" The boy's voice had risen a few octaves in indignation. "I think you'll find, my lady, that I am unique." He threw in a clumsy bow for good measure.

Despite herself, Clara giggled slightly and stepped out from behind the tree and she finally got full view of his profile and discovered that this peculiar boy had a rather prominent chin. "What are you doing here Chin Boy?"

"Looking for you of course." He paused for a moment "Oi! What is wrong with my chin?" He cried grasping at his chin. When he looked towards her smiling face he huffed in mock annoyance.

"Why are you looking for me? Did my father send you?"

"Well your father didn't send me directly, Mr Dennison told Mr Mills to send out a search party, so ta da!" He explained gesturing to himself.

"You're silly."

"What's wrong with silly?"

"Nothing. I'm still talking to you aren't I?" Clara teased with a crooked smile.

"You know Miss Clara, you should probably go back inside. It's getting a bit cold out don't you think?"

"I am not going back there." She protested "I'm not cold either."

John Smith looked at Clara sceptically, only to catch her eye as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she shivered. "Well if you're going to stay out here you may as well keep warm." He began to unbutton his coat.

"What are you doing?" Clara immediately covered her eyes.

"I'm just giving you my coat. It's the gentlemanly thing to do isn't it? I may not be a gentleman Miss, but I have manners I'll have you know." He declared proudly, holding out his coat towards Clara.

She took the coat timidly and whispered "I think you would make a very fine gentleman." At this John blushed profusely and scuffed his shoe in the dirt. "You made me feel better."

"Well it has been said that I make everything better." John chuckled. He offered his hand to Clara and she took it daintily, pulling herself up. "Come on Miss lets get you back inside, you look tired." John ensured that his coat was secure around the young girls shoulders and began to lead her towards the manor house, this time Clara didn't protest.

"How old are you?" Clara asked.

"I'm 12, Miss."

"I didn't ask you for your name, that was very rude of me, I'm sorry."

"It's ok, Miss. My name is John Smith."

"Oh, well that's not very exciting is it?"

"It isn't is it? I think it's very dull." John agreed.

"I am going to call you Doctor." Clara stated with a finality.

"Why?"

"You made things better, you fixed my sadness, even if it was just for a little while." Clara smiled at him sadly and went silent, continuing towards the house in quiet contemplation.

* * *

John Smith, decided that he liked to be called the Doctor, his heart swelled when Clara said he had made her feel better. That's what he liked to do, fix things, make things better for people even if it was only a small difference. The name 'Doctor' stayed with John Smith for many years, he only allowed Clara to call him that. It became a promise to Clara and over time their relationship grew stronger and soon they became virtually inseparable.

* * *

**A/N: This idea has been in my head for ages and I've finally got the time to actually make it into something (hopefully something good).**

**So the idea came from watching Death Comes to Pemberley, which Jenna was absolutely amazing in. I normally don't like Lydia as a character, but Jenna brought the comedy to her which I absolutely loved. This means that Clara may be slightly out of character in this AU as she is part of late 1700s and early 1800s upper class society, whereas the doctor is very much working class. So from the very beginning there is already a challenge for them although theydon't necessarily see it as they are children when they meet. Of course Clara's father** **doesn't approve and again Dave is out of character for this AU just for the purpose of the story.**

**I hope you all like it and feel free to leave a review about the good and the bad points.**

**-windowacrosstime**


	2. Chapter 1: Falling

**23rd November 1801**

"I don't see why I have to do this Lottie." Clara complained to her maid "Father has only organised this to force me to meet all the eligible men. Well the ones he deems suitable anyway." Charlotte smiled at Clara's use of her pet name and chuckled softly at her complaints. "They're most likely boring old fools. Father would most likely have me marry a fifty year old Duke with a secure fortune. Securing my future indeed, more like securing my eternal misery." She finished with a pout.

"Miss Clara, you need to sit still so I can finish your hair." Charlotte admonished half heartedly, smiling at the young girl's reflection in the mirror. "We also need to be on time for the start of the celebration."

Clara grimaced "I'm sorry Lottie, I would much rather entertain myself."

"No, what you really mean is you would much rather spend time with the young Mr Smith." Charlotte teased.

"Lottie!" Clara gasped as Charlotte fixed the final curl into place.

"Oh I'm just teasing sweetheart, no need to get all flustered." Clara scowled at the reflection of Charlotte as the maid squeezed her shoulder in reassurance. "There you're ready now and you look beautiful."

Clara blushed and looked down, wringing her hands. "Thank you Lottie."

"For goodness sake, you'll be fine Clara and remember it's only for a few hours." Charlotte exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air as she reached the door of Clara's bedroom. This caused Clara to giggle at the maids antics. However, this did little to relieve the nerves that had settled in her stomach, as much as Clara hated to admit it.

Unfortunately for her she hates being centre of attention and tonight revolves around her being the centre of attention, the very idea makes her stomach churn. Clara turned to look at herself in the full length mirror set into a mahogany frame, she hated the thing, it was too dark just like everything else in this house. Charlotte was right, she did look beautiful. Her chocolate coloured hair had been brought up into an elaborately arranged bun and revealed the graceful line of her neck. She was wearing a deep red ball gown, that complimented her skin perfectly but as she looked in the mirror, she realised something was missing. She looked to her jewellery box that sat on her dressing table. Clara could see a beautiful pair of earrings, glinting in the early evening sunlight. She picked them up carefully and sighed "I wish you were here Mother. I miss you." She fiddled with them for a few seconds before putting her mother's earrings on. Clara checked herself one last time before taking a deep breath and stepping out of her room for the night.

* * *

"Dennison, is everything ready for this evening?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"The Beauclarks are still attending?"

"To my knowledge Sir."

"Good, you are dismissed Dennison."

"Thank you Sir."

Dennison turned and left, closing the door softly and leaving Lord Oswald in his study. He organised this Ball with the intention of presenting his daughter to the most influential of the upper class society. Arguably, the most influential of these were the Beauclarks. They had extensive connections with the majority of England's aristocracy and even some with royalty. If Clara were to marry Thomas Beauclark, the Oswald name would certainly climb a few rungs of society's ladder. Lord Oswald knows this would guarantee the hatred of his daughter for the rest of his life if he forced her into marriage, she would certainly see the benefit for him in all of this. However, as much as Clara denies that her father loves her, he would do anything to ensure her security and comfort, but there is certainly no denying that Lord Oswald does not understand his daughter and fails to give her the happiness she has struggled to gain ever since she was ten years old. Clara is now 16, a young woman. Her father is very much aware of the many suitors fighting for her hand, but he will only settle for the best.

In all honesty, Lord Oswald despised Balls, celebrations and the like, but they had to be done. He had to to find Clara a husband, much to his chagrin, he didn't want to lose his daughter even though this doesn't seem obvious. Admittedly he is emotionally distant and yes, he could be on better terms with his daughter, but every time he looks at Clara, he sees her, he sees Eleanor. He loved her deeply and unconditionally, but Clara is her mother in so many ways and it hurts.

* * *

"Do you think she'll like it Jack? It's only small." The Doctor asked, worrying as he paced the stable yard.

"Sure she will, when has she ever not liked anything you've got her? Jack reassured. His shirt sleeves were rolled up as he was brushing one of the carriage horses. Jack stood up and readjusted his suspenders and belt. "John, you know she loves the stuff you get her."

"She could just be saying that to make me feel better." The Doctor sighed.

Jack groaned "Would you pull yourself together? You do this every time Miss Clara's birthday comes around... and Christmas, it's exhausting!"

"Well she doesn't even like Christmas so I need to make it nice." The Doctor argued.

"So when are you actually going to see her?" Jack asked.

"Oh I'll give her about three hours before she gets bored, so," he checks the clock in the stable yard "probably about 11."

"Leaving your duties again Mr Smith? For some that's an offence that would cause them to dismiss their staff." Inquired a voice.

"Ah Mr Mills, I can promise you Sir that it is after I am due to be clocked off." The Doctor said, turning towards the voice and smiled.

"Well you're in luck then Mr Smith." Mills joked. "Off to see Miss Clara I presume?"

The Doctor scuffed his shoe on the cobblestones "Maybe. Maybe not."

Mills chuckled "Well those stables better be spotless before you leave."

The Doctor opened and closed his mouth repeatedly before making a noise of discontent and stomping towards the stables like a five year old, muttering to himself. He grabbed a brush and wheelbarrow on his way and immediately started work on the first of 15 stables.

* * *

If Clara had to dance with another young man who claimed to be the best dancer in his county she would scream. No she does not want to dance, she has always despised dancing. Unfortunately for her, it is something that is expected of her, along with sewing. How she hated sewing, she was terrible at it and she knew it, everyone knew it, there was never a day where the multiple governesses she had had in her childhood hadn't smacked her hands when she got a stitch, which was very frequently. She was however, praised for her dancing, that she had a talent for even though she positively despised it. Clara was seen as unusual for someone her age, she hated everything that a young lady should like. That was exactly she hated it, the idea that she _should_ like it is precisely why. Charlotte had always told her that her stubbornness would get her into to trouble and now Clara was stubbornly refusing to dance. She thoroughly distracted herself by hiding in a corner and listening to all the mundane conversations of the upper class women. She couldn't quite believe that Lady Yorke had gone through five different housekeepers in as many months, honestly do they have nothing better to talk about? Clara would much rather immerse herself in a fictional world, she herself could not understand why this was seen as strange, why should she obsess over petty things? Why should she be disgusted by the fact that someone had decorated their drawing room green? Oh the horror! Quite simply books are better at least they are interesting.

Clara was quite possibly reaching her capacity for boredom. She had tried everything, even joining in the conversations of the old widows that seem to be very interested in cucumber sandwiches. She was just about ready to abandon her birthday celebration, even starting to make her way to the huge ornate doors leading to the gardens, she was so close to freedom from the oppressive atmosphere, free of being being someone she most definitely isn't, but she was stopped.

"Clara." She felt a large hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off immediately.

"Father." She ground out.

"I'm glad I found you." He frowned when she rolled her eyes "I need to introduce you to someone."

"Father, if this is another one of your suitors, I'm not interested." She sighed.

"I don't care if you're not interested, you will come to meet this family whether you want to or not" Her father commanded "and you better look happy about it. This is important for me as well as yourself."

"Oh, I see." Clara raised her eyebrows "You get some financial gain from this. Anything to improve your image to the rest of society, isn't that right father?" Her voice raising slightly in volume, but not enough to draw the attention of the crowds filling the room.

"Keep you voice down young lady, you will do as I say and that is final." He took hold of her arm and made her place her hand in the crook of his elbow, leading her away from the doors and her freedom. "You will be meeting the Beauclark family Clara, so behave appropriately." Clara followed begrudgingly, but held her chin high, she will not show her father how disappointed about being led away from the outdoors she truly was. However, when he uttered the name 'Beauclark' she could not stop the flutter of nerves in her stomach, not because she was anxious to impress, but because she was fully aware of how powerful this family was, there was literally no room for error in the sense that it would be very much in her best interests if she did not offend them in any way. They had the ability to make her life miserable.

Clara had begun to grip her father's arm more tightly than she would care to admit, but, to give him credit, he did not even flinch. Lord Oswald was leading her swiftly through the masses of people until he reached a slightly quieter and less busy area. He took her over to a group of three people, an older lady and gentleman of at least 60 years old and man who Clara cannot describe as either old or young, but he was most certainly at least twice her age. As they came closer to the family, their wealth became very clear. The woman, Lady Georgiana Beauclark, was adorned with many precious jewels that cast off an ethereal glow and she wore a powder blue gown intricately woven with silver thread. Her hair was carefully arranged upon her head, giving an extra few inches to her height. When she spotted Clara and her father, she pursed her lips together and gave the pair a tight lipped smile. Her husband, Lord Augustus Beauclark, on the other hand positively beamed when he spotted her father.

"David! How wonderful to see you again." Lord Augustus gave her father a friendly slap on the back before turning to Clara "My, my, Miss Clara you have grown into a beautiful young woman, the last time we saw you, you must have only 3 years old. I'm afraid your father is at fault, keeping his doors closed for too long." He cheerfully exclaimed. "This is my son,Thomas." He added gesturing towards the man on his left.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all." Clara said through a tense smile, curtsying politely.

"Likewise Miss Clara." Lady Georgiana drawled, looking down her nose at Clara, making her immediately dislike the woman.

"No Mother, it's _our_ pleasure." Thomas smirked down at Clara "You look exquisite this evening, if I may say so Miss Clara."

"Thank you Sir." Clara replied. However, she did not like his attempts at civility, it sent chills down her spine, making her feel very uncomfortable. She felt as if she was a piece of meat being displayed to a hungry wolf.

"Oh don't stand on formalities Clara, call me Thomas." Clara's only response was a thin lipped smile, she had been made even more uncomfortable by his casual use of her name, as if he had known her for years. Clara had barely any time to notice the change in music before Thomas has forcibly taken her hand and stated "Come Clara, let's dance." He all but dragged her towards the spacious ballroom that was situated in the centre of her home. She had to strongly resist the instinct to wrench her hand from his grip. Thomas had dragged her to the centre of the room where they were visible to everyone that was there, it was quite clearly a statement to everybody there, Thomas Beauclark had set his sights on Clara.

They had begun to dance, but Thomas had taken it as an opportunity to bore Clara with every minor detail about himself. By the time he got past telling Clara, his brilliant skill for hunting for the third time, she had tuned him out, instead focusing on his appearance. Thomas Beauclark, was possibly wearing some of the most expensive clothes she had ever seen, but then that was to be expected considering the family he came from. So, Clara instead studied his physical features. He was tall, intimidatingly so, Thomas towered over Clara and every time he spoke to her he leant over her, making her feel crowded and claustrophobic. His facial features, did nothing to make her feel less in comfortable, his eyes were small, close together and so dark they were almost black, making Clara feel incredibly self conscious due to the feeling of being constantly scrutinised. His nose was thin and slightly crooked, his lips were merely a thin pale line and his hair was as black as night, but was undeniably greasy, so much so that it looked as if it hadn't been washed for months, she found it almost repulsive. Clara could not help but compare him to one of the villains she read about in fairytales as a young girl, it was perhaps a childish notion, but she very much wanted to avoid him because of it.

Finally the dance finished and Clara had never felt more relieved. "I'm sorry Thomas, but I must excuse myself."

"Whatever for Clara, would you not like to continue dancing?" Thomas questioned.

"I would like to." She lied "However, it has become rather stuffy in here, I would like to step outside for some air."

"Oh. Let me accompany you." He began to offer his arm.

"No!" She blurted a little to quickly. "I mean, it's very kind of you to offer but I prefer to walk around the gardens myself, it allows me to clear my head." She finished lamely.

"Very well then." Thomas relented, looking slightly suspicious but made no move to try to press her for answers.

"Thank you for the dance, I very much enjoyed it." Another lie.

"My pleasure, Clara" he bowed politely and Clara returned it with a curtsy before turning and trying to make it look like she wasn't rushing towards the door.

* * *

The Doctor had been waiting in their spot for a while now, he was beginning to think that she wouldn't come. He took out her birthday present and held it in his palm, studying it carefully. It had cost him four months wages to save for the simple silver chain, he believed its simplicity was its beauty, just like Clara. Clara had never liked the overly extravagant, often opting for simple dresses that, he thought, brought out her natural beauty rather than distracting from it. He looked up at the sky and sighed, despite knowing this he still worried that she wouldn't like it. The Doctor had begun to fidget when he heard angry stomps coming towards him, he stood up quickly and grinned, turning towards the girl making them.

"Honestly, if I had spent another minute in there I think I would have screamed." Clara complained.

"Well you lasted longer than I expected you to. I was convinced you would only last three hours, I'm impressed." The Doctor joked. Clara had stepped closer to him, a smile slowly creeping onto her face as he grinned down at her. She laughed and threw her arms around the Doctors neck as he encircled her waist, picking her up and spinning her around, she giggled happily, breath tickling his ear. "That bad, huh?" He said as he set her down.

"It was positively dreadful." She said with a frown.

"Well you can tell me all about it in a minute, but first I have something for you." He exclaimed.

Clara lightly pushed his shoulder. "I told you not to get me anything." She admonished.

"Yeah, well, I didn't listen." He pulled out the chain from his pocket laying it out on his palm. He watched as Clara picked it up delicately and a broad smile lit up her features.

"Oh Doctor it's beautiful, I love it." She smiled brightly up at him and stood on her toes to give him a light kiss on the cheek, which left him turning a brilliant crimson.

"Happy birthday Clara." He choked out, getting all flustered and clearing his throat and continuing "So tell me about this party."

She rolled her eyes. "My father felt the need to put me on display to every _eligible_ bachelor that could exist." She paused "There was this one man, Thomas Beauclark, who was incredibly dull. All he did was talk about himself, he even repeated himself! Father was very keen for me to make a good impression, but I think I made it perfectly clear that I was not impressed by him. He was at least 30 as well, I can't believe father even considered him."

The Doctor frowned deeply "He was 30? Isn't that a bit old?"

"Well I think it is, but it doesn't matter what I think." She sighed "It's not uncommon Doctor, sometimes girls as young as 14 are married off to men that are more than twice their age. It's just the way it is."

"But that's ridiculous Clara!" The Doctor exclaimed "You should marry who you want to marry."

The Doctor went to sit on a nearby bench and Clara followed suit, placing herself next to him so their arms brushed. She rested her head on his shoulder as she whispered "I wish I could Doctor, I really do." She sighed "Will you help me put this on?" She smiled slightly at him, looking up at him with her wide brown eyes that held so many emotions and gestured to the bracelet he had gotten her. The Doctor nodded, taking her wrist gently and clasped the chain around it. He then took her palm and kissed it gently. Now it was Clara's turn to blush whilst she fought desperately to keep the silly grin that was threatening to creep up onto her face at bay. "You'll never leave me will you Doctor?"

"Never." He promised and she looked into his green eyes and she knew that he wasn't lying. She knew that the Doctor would always be there for her, he always made everything better, but she had to tell herself to not fall in love, because she knew that she could never have what she wanted. Her life had been mapped out for her from start to finish, but how she wished she could take some control, make her life hers to control. "You look beautiful tonight Clara." Why did he have to make it so hard?

* * *

**A/N: Thank you very much for the lovely reviews :)**

**Ok so a few things about this chapter:**

**I'm trying to make it as historically accurate as I can which is why I decided to make Thomas Beauclark twice Clara's age. It wasn't uncommon in the Georgian era for girls as young as 14 from upper class families to be married off to men a lot older than them, it's just the way it happened then so I decided to include it in the story because I thought I could explore Clara's feelings towards it and the unhappiness it causes her.**

**Also I don't want Clara's father to seem completely heartless, I'm just making it so he struggles expressing his feelings to Clara and the majority of the time does not do it in the right way, which causes their relationship to be strained.**

**Next chapter I'll be focusing more on the Doctor and also develop his relationship with Clara more.**

**Let me know what you think, good or bad.**

***Last time I forgot a disclaimer so: I don't own any of the Doctor who characters only the plot***

**-windowacrosstime **


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